


The Things Left Unsaid

by Foreverwholockedme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Whump, Bill is sometimes a good friend, Depression, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, No Slash, Poor Arthur, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective John, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2019-11-19 05:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverwholockedme/pseuds/Foreverwholockedme
Summary: "I spoke to this guy in the swamp that knew all about you...all about you."Bill is the only one that knows what happened to Arthur in that shack in the swamp. It was an accident to learn about it, but after seeing Arthur's return, and bearing witness to his self-destruction after the fact, Bill reckoned that he would be there for Arthur while he heals.





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, Bill probably shouldn’t have made that joke to Arthur when he came back to camp. He saw the way Arthur sort of limped into camp, face hidden under his hat, his absolute refusal to interact with anyone when they started speaking to them. Bill saw that as a challenge. The gang could clearly see there was something wrong with Arthur, but Bill knew exactly what it was.

There was a shack, up near Saint Denis. Weird man lived there. He happened upon him when his horse was stopping for a bite of some food. Bill already had his hand on his revolver, that man weren’t about to pull no tricks with him. With great effort, he tried to be polite and composed. The stranger responded in kind and enthusiastically invited him to get some food inside his home. Bill respectfully declined but said he’d eat a can of beans with the stranger. Stranger said no thanks. The horse just about finished his meal of apples and carrots and so he mounted him, giving him a few gentle pats.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here, boy.” He whispered into the horse’s ear. Jack stomped at the ground twice and bucked his head. He agreed. Just before Bill could get to the reins the stranger asked him a question.

“How’s your friend doing?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, partner.”

“You know him. Blond, scruffy beard, tough.”

He laughed when he said that and Bill was curious. What the hell was _Arthur_ doing here?

“Fine, I reckon. Why?”

The stranger laughed again and sighed at the thought of Arthur.

“Your friend ain’t so tough after all, sir. Shall I tell you about our night together?”

And so Bill hopped down off his horse, and walked carefully to the first step and stood there. The stranger smiled and so there Bill was. For a whole hour he listened to the sordid and horrible tale of Arthur being raped by this disgusting human being. He described in great detail what he did to him, how it felt to penetrate him. It made Bill sick to his stomach, and so he quickly bid the man a good rest of the day and then rode back to the relative safety of his camp.

Arthur hadn’t been there when Bill returned. He couldn’t help but worry about that man. Was he alright? Was he safe, away from that inbred hillbilly piece of shit?  Is he…is he healing properly? But Bill was shit at tracking people down, and he couldn’t tell the other gang members, it would be a direct betrayal to Arthur. He wasn’t even supposed to know! So Bill did the only thing Bill knew how to do besides shoot, and that was get drunk. Get drunk and forget that Arthur was out there somewhere, trying to forget that awful night as best he could without dying.

Arthur ain’t come back until about three days later. Bill was honestly surprised that he came back so soon but then he saw the way Arthur winced while dismounting his horse and figured that Arthur just really wanted to rest. Sleeping on a bedroll in the middle of nowhere weren’t quite the same. Bill stood by the hitching tents, waiting for Arthur to trudge past him. Arthur was walking kind of funny. He came within earshot of Bill, and that’s when he let fly that stupid comment.

“I spoke to this guy in the swamp who knew all about you… _all_ about you.”

Arthur looked at him carefully. Bill regretted it the moment that man clapped eyes on him. Arthur looked like he ain’t slept in all the time he’s been away. He looked angry, and sad, but most of all, he looked embarrassed. If he hadn’t happened upon that stranger, he would have never placed it. If Arthur hadn’t already killed that man, then he would tonight.

“Shut up.”

That’s all he said. He ain’t want to talk about it. So Bill left it at that.

Except Arthur got worse. His walk went back to normal and he was able to ride his horse as usual again. Everyone thought he was alright, but Bill knew better and that man’s disgusting voice kept bouncing around in his head. Arthur didn’t really eat. If he did, he came out at night when everyone went to bed, would grab himself a bowl and then retreat back to his tent. Speaking of, he never had the flaps of the tent pulled down either, but his was near identical to Dutch’s with how closed off it was. Arthur never came out during the day, if he wasn’t already gone by the time the sun rose. Hosea seemed worried about him too, but everytime he went to speak to Arthur, he was just met with short replies or a grumpy cowboy stomping out of camp. Dutch ain’t really seem to care. He watched Arthur sit away from everyone that morning, writing and furiously sketching in that journal of his. That was all. Bill wonders if anyone actually asked Arthur if he was alright. He reckoned he should. Arthur was sitting at the far end of the camp. Under a tree, shifting his gaze from the landscape to his journal. He looked alright, so far.

“Well good morning mister Morgan!”

Arthur looked over at him and then silently returned to drawing. Bill stopped when he was next to the other man.

“It in your habit to sit so far from the group?”

“They’ll live,” came the gruff reply.

Bill sighed. He went in his satchel and took out the nice brandy he’d looted some days ago. He was saving it for another camp party, but he needed a drink, and so did Arthur.

“Care to join me in a drink?”

He held out the bottle, offering it to him. Arthur looked up at Bill once and then back at the bottle. Bill was pleased when Arthur accepted the offer.

“Why you being so nice to me, Williamson? Thinking you might need someone to save your tail again and so you trying to butter me up?”

“You’re very funny, Mr. Morgan. I was just checking up on you. I know you…been through some things since last we spoke.”

“Leave me alone, Bill.” Arthur growled that sentence and Bill wondered if he would have to fight Arthur today.

“I honestly ain’t trying to poke fun at you. I’m just…I’m here if you need anything, okay? You ain’t got to go through whatever it is you’re feeling alone. I won’t tell the others, it ain’t there business, hell, it ain’t mine neither. If you don’t want to talk about it with me, then that’s fine too. I…I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Bill saw the way Arthur was a breath away from crying. He breathed quickly, his chest rising and then slowly steadying as he calmed himself. His eyes were fine again, no more gloss from the tears that welled up in them. In just a moment it looked like nothing had happened at all. Arthur took another swig from the bottle and then gave it back to Bill silently. He promptly picked his journal back up and resumed what he was doing while Bill awkwardly walked back to join the rest of the gang.


	2. Chapter 2

 First thing Bill noticed after that failed attempt at trying to get Arthur to talk was that he went hunting. A lot. The days were a lot slower since they came to Clement Point; too hot to really go mucking about anywhere, so most of the gang just spent their days wading in the water near camp, nowadays it’s not uncommon to see one of the members stark naked at the waterside. Arthur never went swimming with the others, at least not since the incident. It wasn’t unusual that if someone cajoled him, or pestered him enough, he would take his boots off and sit with his feet in it. Sometimes, if it was Tilly, Charles, Abigail and Jack, hell even if Grimshaw or Sadie would ask him, he would get into his bathing suit and play with them in the water. But now, whenever they ask him to swim with them, he would mutters something about going to hunt.

“Pearson needs some more venison, I think we running a bit low.”

“Y’all ain’t feeling like some rabbit tonight? I ain’t too keen on another night of turkey.”

It was excuses like that, that Bill noticed. But he never said anything, he would watch as Arthur hopped onto his horse, Betsy, an American Paint, and trot his way out of the camp. Everyone noticed that he was always away from camp, even more than he usually was, one time Bill overheard Dutch telling Charles that if he didn’t show in another three days, that he was to go and fetch him. When he came back he always looked exhausted, lugging back a large wolf, or a boar, one time he even brought back a juvenile bear. Betsy looked about ready to pass out when she came back and immediately galloped over to his other horse and joined her in some desperate water drinking. Arthur, on the other hand would just toss the dead animal onto Pearson’s table and tip his hat.

“Looks like fine eatin’ tonight, Pearson.”

And our long-suffering chef would just look at Arthur with bewilderment on his face and say something like, “At the rate you’re going Mr. Morgan, I should think so.” 

Arthur wouldn’t smile, and then go back to his tent and not even so much as taste his catch of the day. Bill wondered if the rest of the gang saw that he was losing weight too. Then he wondered why no one was saying anything if they knew but then he remembered that it was Arthur Morgan and you would have to kill him before you get him to tell you he isn’t alright. Bill caught Pearson selling some of the excess meat in Rhodes.

“We just have a lot. Mr. Morgan’s been on quite the kick.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Mr. Pearson.”

And it was after that day that Bill decided that whenever Arthur came back, he would try again to talk to him. It wasn’t helping anyone to just keep going like nothing happened. Because something did happen, and it’s clear that Arthur’s suffering.

“Welcome back, Arthur!”  

Bill turned to see Tilly smiling at him as he trudged past her. He looked out of it, too tired to even comprehend that someone was talking to him. He looked over at her and gave her something like a wave before ducking his way into his tent. He looked like he was walking dead. Bill couldn’t just stand by anymore. He thought that he was just going to let Arthur come to him on his own, but this was horrible. He was wasting away. Bill made his way over to Arthur’s tent and poked his head in. Arthur was about to remove his shirt when Bill shouted, “Mr. Morgan!”

He could at least laugh about the way Arthur jumped. The way the rough and tough… _tough._

_“Your friend ain’t so tough after all, sir…”_

And then it wasn’t funny anymore. Arthur was clutching at his collar, his shirt thrown back on haphazardly and then Bill felt like a piece of shit again. Like the chicken shit he said he never ate, but he did.

“Now why’d you go ahead and do something like that for, Williamson?”

“Can I come in?”

“You already got your head in might as well stick the rest of your dumbass in here!”

Bill didn’t really take too kindly to being called a dumbass, but he wasn’t about to bark at Arthur either and then ruin whatever small amount of trust that’s between them. Usually no honor among thieves. He stepped in and noticed the way Arthur kept his back to his desk and his fingers still clutched to keep his chest from showing. He kept thinking about it and he forgot to talk, Arthur got impatient.

“What you want?”

“Come for a drink with me at the Rhodes saloon.”

“I ain’t thirsty.”

“Well _I_ am.”

“So go by yourself then.”

“You talk to all your friends like this, Morgan?”

“Just the ones that won’t leave me be.”

Everyone always called Arthur dumb, but far be it from Bill to say that this man didn’t have a tongue quicker than his draw. He certainly left him at a loss for words at times. Like now. But he resolved himself to not leave, even when Arthur was being difficult. Arthur was difficult on the best of days, but he wouldn’t have been a good friend, and he certainly wouldn’t be a good gang member if he neglected the needs of their lieutenant. He raised his hands to show that there were no hard feelings.

“Look, I just want to have a drink with a friend. You ain’t even let me finish before, drinks are on me.”

Some part of Bill died when he said that, because Arthur’s a big man and he needed to drink _quite_ a few drinks before he was properly trashed, and Bill did a few too many indulgent purchases that week. But Arthur looked happy to hear that, and Bill admitted to himself that he also enjoyed seeing Arthur happy, he always had a sour look on his face. But he shouldn’t be griping about money.

He was going to have a drink with a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur kept knocking them back. One shot after the other, followed by a bottle of beer (which by the way, Bill has never seen anyone drink so fast) and then he’d chase that with some rum. Bill was on his third beer by the time Arthur had cleared his eighth shot. How the _fuck_ was he still standing?

Another thought flashes across his mind and maybe a saloon wasn’t the right place to have this conversation.

But then Arthur turned to look at him, his eyes hazy with the many drinks finally catching up to him. His smile was goofy, a bit crooked, but he was smiling and it was something that Bill hadn’t seen in a long time. The gentle giant threw his arm around Bill’s shoulder and laughed loudly.

“Bill, this night might have been the best idea you’ve had in a long… _long_ while! Ha ha!”

“Your generosity humbles me, Mr. Morgan.” He deadpanned before finishing off the rest of his beer. He was only buzzed compared to his friend, and they’ve only been there an hour!

“Why you drinking so slow, Williamson? You said you invited me for a drink, yet I’m the only one drinking!”

Dangerous words. Arthur, be it drunk or sober, knew full well that if you goaded Bill Williamson, he always took the challenge. Mama ain’t raise no bitch, Dutch don’t recruit no cowards. He took his hat off his head and looked at Arthur right in his cloudy blue-green eyes. He raised his fingers to show that the barkeep that they needed two more drinks.

“You sure you want us both in here stinking drunk? Dutch told us not to make no trouble.”

“We ain’t bout to make no fuss, just drink the damn whiskey!”

Arthur was feeling playful tonight. To be honest, it’s what Bill preferred. The entire way to the saloon Bill wondered if Arthur was going to get real sad and spend the entire night crying in front of the bartender. He wasn’t going to tell Arthur that was wrong, Lord only knows how long it’s been since Arthur’s properly cried, but for his sake, and for Arthur’s sake, he shouldn’t have his breakdown in the middle of a Rhodes saloon of all places. Then, there was a part of the ride where his companion got real quiet, not like he was much of a chatterbox anyway, but he managed to keep light conversation with Arthur before the man just went mute. So Bill looked around, it was dark, almost eleven at night last time he checked. There was nobody on the road besides the two of them, but there were shacks sprinkled around the swamp they were traipsing through. That’s when it hit him, Arthur probably thought they were near that house, the house with the inbred hillbilly scum named Lonnie. The same Lonnie that hurt Arthur and then gloated about it to the first stranger he saw. Betsy was closer to his horse than he last remembered, she huffed three times and looked a little agitated.

“It’s alright girl, we’re okay.” Arthur cooed softly. He stroked her mane but he didn’t try to move her away from Bill’s horse. Arthur was also looking down, his face hidden by his hat like the day he came back to camp. He was very uncomfortable, and Bill felt horrible about not realizing sooner. Without saying anything, Bill clicked his teeth and his horse started a steady gallop. Arthur stared at the growing distance between them and followed suit. They were out of the swamps in about five minutes, Betsy stopped fidgeting so much, her owner was better so she was okay too. The only thing Arthur said for the rest of the ride was, “Thank you.”

“Buy me _one_ drink tonight and we’ll call it even.” It was a joke and Bill prayed that Arthur would understand that it was a joke. The sound of Arthur’s low chuckle almost made him sigh of relief.

“Deal.”

Bill smiled at the thought of saving fifty cents on a drink.

 So there they were, sitting at the bar in Rhodes, laughing and giggling like two drunk buffoons would. It took some work, but Bill was able to match Arthur in his intoxication, and goddamn did it work. He didn’t know how it happened but it turned out Arthur knows one song on the piano, and he shoved the player off the bench and started playing it. Bill only heard the song once since it’s come out, but he’s only ever heard it at that Saint Denis theatre and so if Arthur was playing it, it meant that he saw the same show.

“Hello ma baby! Hello my honey! Hello my ragtime gal!”

Bill decided that in this moment, this song was his complete and utter shit, and so the two of them loudly sang the lyrics to it, annoying the two other very intoxicated patrons there. The song ended in boisterous laughter, and then them walking back to the bar to refill arms draped over the other’s shoulder.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to play the piano, Mr. Morgan?”

“I don’t!”

They both looked at each other before breaking down into another fit of laughter and gleefully ordering six more shots of whiskey, plus two to make amends with the other patrons. From there the night was theirs. They left the saloon eventually, Arthur sadly remarking that the saloon in Valentine was much more fun, no matter the hour of the day.

“It’s the fucking moonshine, Arthur Morgan! The fucking moonshine that these inbred fools make in their homes so ain’t no reason to be going to the saloon and paying for it!”

“Well when you put it that way, seems you do have a point!”

They found themselves in a pig sty, to which Bill thought it would be a good idea to flop onto the mud to cool down, just like the pigs. Of course, the pigs thought he looked stupid, but Arthur thought the man was genius and also joined him in the cooling sludge. The two laid there for a while in silence, staring up at the stars before Bill broke the silence.

“We can’t let Miss Grimshaw see us like this, you hear?”

“Best we sneak in camp from the side and pray we make it to our tents before she can see us.”

“Easy to do when you got all your flaps to your tent down. She’d spot me a mile away.”

Arthur got quiet when Bill said that. Bill kept looking at the stars, hoping that Arthur would say something again.

“I got my flaps down because I ain’t much feel like seeing no one as of late.”

“I know.”

“You ain’t mad?”

Arthur sounded scared almost, like he was expecting Bill to lash out at him for asking that. Maybe he wasn’t scared of Bill, but he was scared of the reaction he was going to get.

“No Arthur course not. Ain’t no one mad at you, just worried is all.”

“Okay.”

Bill had a bottle of rum he stole from Pearson some weeks ago  He went in his satchel, pulled it out, and took a healthy swig from it. As best as he could lying down. He held it over Arthur’s face, the man took it and took a drink as well. Then they both sat up, and it became a silent game of them sharing the bottle without making eye contact.

“Hey! Hey get the hell off my land!”

There was a farmer with his shotgun ready.

“Y’all best get away from them pigs, you hear?”

Arthur was the first to say something and Bill really wasn’t surprised.

“Calm down mister we was just trying to cool off. Just get back in your house and we’ll be on our way.”

The farmer didn’t budge though, and Bill was slowly reaching for his holster. He was a decent shot drunk, but he silently hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The farmer cocked his gun.

“You ain’t so tough-“

“Excuse me?”

Bill looked at Arthur carefully, seeing the way the man was slowly getting up. He was angry, he was ashamed, he was embarrassed all over again at hearing that. Bill couldn’t help but think about the way Lonnie said it too, the sick excitement he got from declaring that Arthur was as weak as the rest of us.

“I said you ain’t so tough!”

Arthur charged at the man and before Bill could even get to his feet, Arthur had the farmer pinned beneath him, priming for a harsh blow to the nose.

“You better watch your mouth, friend. You understand? Don’t you _fucking_ talk to me like that! We was just trying to cool off!”

“Arthur.”

Nothing, his name fell on deaf ears. Bill decided he was too drunk for this, he got up too quickly and he feared that he was going to puke soon. Yep, he was right. As soon as he opened his mouth to say Arthur’s name again, a stream of whiskey, beer, and steak flew out of his mouth. When he was finished, he sloppily called his friend’s name.

“Arthur, let’s go now!”

The blond looked over at him with tears threatening to spill over. _Oh Arthur_ … he couldn’t help but think. This was all his fault, he shouldn’t have made that stupid fucking joke, he shouldn’t have been the one to try and console Arthur, please Arthur, please don’t beat this man to a pulp because a different man hurt you.

“Please, Arthur.  I’m sorry sir, we a little drunk is all. We’ll be leaving now.”

“Get this man off me!”

Bill staggered over to Arthur and without much of a fight, he lifted him up off the farmer and hurried him out of the pig sty, for fear that the man would start shooting the moment their backs were turned. They ran to spot on a hill, underneath a tree and took a seat. Their horses were back in Rhodes, they would have to go and get them later. But that didn’t matter, it shouldn’t. Not when Arthur was literally trembling right next to him.

“He said them words and I thought…I thought it was _him_ , Bill…I thought it was him and it….it made me…”

“You don’t got to explain nothing to me, Arthur. It’s okay. We’re gone from him, gone from the both of us. Right here, you can do whatever you want right now and it would still be okay.”

Arthur shook harder and Bill was very worried. Just a simple phrase turned this man into a near wreck.

“That man hurt me, Bill. He hurt me bad.”

And just like that, Arthur Morgan started sobbing. Bill realized he was too drunk, but he couldn’t leave Arthur like that and pass out, now could he? Instead, he carefully placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, which Arthur greatly appreciated, and gently held him as he cried.

It was going to be a long night.  


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur was too tired to argue after he sobbed on Bill for what seemed like hours. Bill went to help him up and Arthur pulled his hand away, after the second time he tried again, Arthur resigned and was lifted from the ground. They walked quietly back to their horses, Arthur lagging behind Bill a bit. He was drunk, they both were, what did it matter?

They made it all the way back to the horses and weren’t even halfway into their journey back to camp before Bill heard the quiet sniffling of his riding partner. He didn’t turn to face him, he knew that the cowpoke’s hat would be covering his face. But Bill wasn’t about to leave him to it. He gripped his reins tighter and took a deep breath. On the exhale, he started speaking.

“You know, if you want to stop again we can do that.”

A sniffle and then nothing more. Bill kept talking.

“It’s a nice night. Minus that piece of shit at the farm, and my getting sick. I reckon there’s still time for a nice night.”

Arthur didn’t respond, so they kept on, their horses were moseying down the lonesome path. It didn’t feel lonesome, not to Bill, and he hoped Arthur felt the same way. It was a few minutes before Arthur said something.

“Can we set camp?”

In true Arthur Morgan fashion, it was short and simple. He was a man of few words, but there would be times where even Bill wondered how much of that was his choice.

“Sure.”

Bill liked short and simple. And just like that, they pitched their tents and after an hour sitting together at the fire, with random bouts of Arthur thinking himself to tears about all that’s happened to him. Bill reckoned that was the most he ever held another man, but Arthur’s hand was latched onto his, knuckles white from fear. They fell asleep under the stars, Bill waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep, then he decided that it was time for him to sleep too and greet the morning with the migraine that was sure to follow. They both wanted to die when they woke up. Bill woke to the sound of Arthur retching somewhere near their camp, but he didn’t see anybody. They got back to the gang by the grace of god and love from their horses. They were all but slumped over when they showed up, desperate for sleep. Miss Grimshaw had Charles and John throw them on their beds. Arthur threw up when he was plopped on his cot. As always, Arthur’s aiming was impeccable and he nailed John right on his brand new pants.

“Sorry.”

John looked pissed like Bill never seen, but those two always did have a soft spot for each other even though they were fighting more than they actually spoke. John just patted Arthur on the back and whispered something to him. Arthur nodded and then John patted him on the head before leaving again. Bill managed to fall asleep again and when he woke, he felt a thousand times better. He made his way over to his tent to see how he felt, but Arthur was still asleep. Bill reckoned that he did have well past his limit that night and so his hangover must have been agony. After deciding to leave him alone, Bill saw Hosea walking over to the stew pot.

“Hosea! Hosea, can I ask you something?”

“Whatever it is Bill, no, you can’t.”

Bill scowled at the slick remark, but he had to control his temper for now. For once, it wasn’t about him.

“Ah hell, I just wanted to know if you could whip something up for Arthur! Reckon he’s mighty sick, least going by what happened last night.”

Hosea was concerned now. Bill had his undivided attention.

“He just…aw shit, he just had few too many last night is all.”

“Is that why he puked all over John? You know it took Abigail and I a whole hour to calm him down from his soiled pants. Did you know they cost twenty bucks?”

“I will hold a service for those pants later. Arthur ain’t well right now, and I know you got knowledge about all them…them herbs and such.”

“You’re absolutely right about that. Tell you what, give this bowl of stew to Arthur, that was a fine amount of sick all over poor John his stomach must be empty.”

“He sleep though.”

“I don’t care. Wake him up and have him eat some of it. He’d feel better.”

“Alright, alright, you’re the boss.”

He took the bowl of stew and started walking back over to Arthur when he heard Hosea say, “You’re damn right!”

Arthur was still lying on his side, facing away from the rest of the gang. He was fast asleep and a part of Bill felt bad for waking him up. With three gentle shakes of his shoulder, Arthur moaned and rolled over to see who was waking him.

“What you want, Williamson?” Arthur whined and that was the first time Bill ever heard the man sound so childish.

“Lunch.”

“I ain’t hungry.”

“You gotta eat something, Morgan.”

“I ain’t gonna eat shit, if I ain’t hungry!”

“You threw up near everything in your stomach, you need some food in there. You still feel sick?”

As if on cue Arthur burped and groaned as he wrapped an arm around his stomach.

“Exactly. I ain’t trying to motherhen you, Morgan. I’m here because it’s Hosea that’s worried about you.”

“Why ain’t he bring it to me then? You ain’t one for your bedside manner.”

“He making some medicine for you. You know how much you had to drink last night?”

“Quite a few.”

Bill nodded and said, “Quite. A. Few.”

It got quiet again and Arthur rolled back over.

“Leave it on the table and I’ll eat it later.”

“Nope. Eat one spoonful, right now.”

“Bill…” Arthur threatened. Bill stood his ground.

“I can’t leave here without knowing you ate something.”

Arthur sighed deeply and rolled over completely to take the spoonful from his nursemaid. When he chewed and swallowed, he put the spoon back in the bowl and Bill gleefully placed it on his table.

“Rest up until Hosea gets back.”

Arthur grumbled in response as he went back to sleeping.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: very very slight mention of suicide in this chapter! It's toward the end of the chapter and it's one line of dialogue so it's skippable! But pls be safe and I understand if you would rather not read the chapter!

Bill thought it was just the hangover that made Arthur sleep all day. But then the next day came, and then the day after that and all Arthur did was sleep. He would wake up, but he would just lie in bed and  face away from everyone. Abigail went in there once to check on him, she said he sounded exhausted, but he been sleep for nearly four days. When the seventh day of Arthur being bed-ridden approached, Bill was told that even John went to check on him. Whatever happened in there didn’t please him none because he came over to Bill one night. They were at the second campfire, the rest of the gang settled at the main one drunk and singing. Bill took to just sipping from his bottle and taking slow drags of his cigarette. John looked anxious while they sat in silence, like it was agony for him to not be saying anything. But then he did after what felt like an eternity.

“What happened to my brother?”

He almost sounded like a child.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t fucking know Bill, that’s why I’m asking you!”

And there came the outlaw John Marston again. However concerned John was for Arthur, Bill don’t and never will take too kindly to people talking to him that way.

“Best fix your tone else I won’t tell you shit, Marston.”

John’s chest was heaving and Bill tried his hardest to school his own face from showing concern for the cowboy. If John was this worked up, he must’ve been real bad off. After giving him a moment to cool off, he spoke, much calmer than before.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he ain’t well. Abigail told me he ain’t eaten nothing since the stew when he been back, she said he were having stomach problems and ain’t have much of an appetite. He ain’t move from that bed not once in seven days. He ain’t bathed, which a little unusual for him,  and his hair all dirty and disheveled. He were crying when I came in the tent…and he just looked so…he looked so pale and sad, Bill. He kept trying to get me to leave like he were embarrassed to be like that. His eyes had them rings under it and I don’t care what no one say he look more like a raccoon than I do at this point. He been around you most, did he…he tell you anything? He weren’t like this till y’all went drinking.”

He was absolutely right. Even if Arthur wasn’t actually _okay_ he was better before Bill decided to take him out drinking. Why the fuck did he think getting drunk would help that man any? He wasn’t too sure he wanted to be truthful to John’s question because then John might jump him, but he wouldn’t be wrong for doing it.

“I ain’t too sure what happened neither…Arthur ain’t what I could call a chatty feller. He were alright when we got the saloon, at least I thought he were. Then we was rolling around in some mud and the farmer ain’t take too kindly to us being there. He pointed a gun at us, threatened us as a farmer will do for his pigs, Arthur ain’t much like that and nearly bashed the man’s face in.”

“Oh lord, did he kill him?”

“No, no he did not, ain’t even touch a hair on his head.”  

John was looking into the campfire. He didn’t look very angry anymore but he was still upset about the current state of things. His eyes got watery for a moment before he blinked them away.

“I don’t much like him like this, Bill. He been like this before for a reason that I am not at liberty to say, but he weren’t this bad. What if he die?”

“I don’t think he about to keel over from not eating for a week, Marston.”

“You don’t know that! And that ain’t what I mean neither.”

Bill took his last huff of the cigarette and then tossed it into the fire.

“What you mean then?”

John hesitated, like he didn’t want to put that whatever he was thinking into words, but then he clenched his fist and looked firmly into Bill’s eyes.

“What if he…well what if he get so bad that he don’t…he just don’t want to be alive no more?”

Bill hadn’t even thought about that. He realized he doesn’t think about a lot of things, but he feels even worse about taking Arthur to that saloon. Maybe they just should have went camping instead. He thought that he should tell John about all the hunting he did after he first came back.

“I’m not saying he would…I think, whatever he’s going through, he been through worse before. He only told me a little about what life were like for him before Dutch and Hosea took him in…it were a sad life, Bill. I just…I wish that sometimes he would…that he could…”  

Bill had a clue of what he was going to say next and his response would be something like “don’t we all wish we could have easier lives?”. No one chooses to be an outlaw, but trying to survive in the west was near impossible for those that weren’t. Most of the gang been orphaned since they were kids, or at least their parents were shitty enough that it was almost like they were orphans. Dutch found the lot of them when they were desperate for food and money, and most of their first introductions to him and Hosea were when the other members were stealing from them! That doesn’t mean that there was a competition for who had it worse, Arthur definitely has the look of a man that’s been through far too much in the time he been alive, but then so does everyone in their line of work.

“I don’t…I can’t talk about this too much no more. Just…I prefer it be just Abigail, Hosea, and me that watch over him, but he seem to be close enough with you that I think it would be nice if you…you just come into his tent sometime and check on him.”

He was an awful friend for not visiting Arthur since they came back. If it weren’t for Hosea, Bill probably wouldn’t had seen him at all last week. Besides, he couldn’t possibly look John in the eye and reject his plea to keep his brother safe. Bill never had any siblings, but by watching them, it must have been nice if not irritating if you were the oldest.

“Yeah, reckon since it were my fault he like this, I’ll go see him later.”

“Good. That’s good.”

John left the conversation there and not long after he left his seat. Bill followed him with his eyes as he walked back to Arthur’s tent. Bill sighed and lit another cigarette as his gaze settled back onto the campfire.


	6. Chapter 6

If Bill didn’t know better, Arthur Morgan looked more like a lump on a bed than he did a person. His back was turned away from the entrance of the tent. It smelled awful in there. Arthur has never looked so unkempt in all the time he knew him. Sure Arthur wasn’t a germaphobe by any means, and he certainly wasn’t in pristine condition all the time, he made more of an effort than most of the boys in camp to be clean. Bill also figured that it probably had to do with Arthur being the subject of Hosea and  Miss Grimshaw’s constant nagging when he was a kid. If Bill didn’t know him he would have never figured the man was a blond. His hair took more of a sandy color than golden. His skin was kind of gray from lack of sunlight and food. There was a pitcher of water filled to the brim, untouched.

“John for the last time I don’t want any company.”

He sounded _drained._ Like it took a lot of effort just for him to say all of that and for a moment Bill wondered if he should turn on his heel and leave. He could do it without words. But then his stomach dropped and a sharp pang of guilt bubbled in him. He couldn’t do that to Arthur.

“It ain’t John, dimwit.”

If it sounded like Bill was taking pity on him, Arthur would just shut down. He learned that the first time he approached him. He wasn’t gonna talk to him like shit, but he had to make Arthur feel like he was in control still about some part of it all. Arthur rolled over slowly.

“What the hell do you want, Bill?”

He was spending so much energy on just this exchange alone but all Bill could do was make the silent promise that it wouldn’t be a long talk.

“I heard you wasn’t eating.”

“And who told you that?”

“John. Had a chat with him last night, thought I might come and see how you is myself.”

Arthur got quiet for a minute.

“What do you think?”

“I think you look like shit. Smell a bit like it too, if I’m honest.” 

Arthur breathed and it was reminiscent of a laugh but minus the happiness that usually accompanied one. Strained.

“Nonsense, I ain’t never looked and felt better.”

And Bill looked right at those eyebags he was sporting. His eyes were dull and sunken in.

“Look, I ain’t here to make you feel bad or to baby you, but you need a bath, hell I need a bath and I reckon so do Cain. So let’s the three of us get to the water before the sun set and bathe.”

Arthur closed his eyes like the very thought of peeling himself from his bed was too painful to do. Bill held his hands up.

“The water is nice and warm right now, I figured you’d be even more sour at the thought of ice cold water. Wouldn’t it be nice to get away from John and the rest of the gang for a bit too? You won’t be too far that it’d be a pain to get back, but just enough so that you can think and breathe without all them worrying eyes.”

“Ain’t you one of them worrying eyes?”

“Only thing I’m gonna worry about is Cain not drowning and fishes swimming up my dick, thank you very much.”

There was a ghost of a smile and another breath of laughter. There was even a hint of amusement to it too.

“You always know just what to say, Williamson.”

And so an hour later, after helping Arthur out of bed and walking with him to the lake without raising more suspicion from the gang, they were both in the water, with occasional bouts of Cain licking and giving as close to a doggy hug he could muster.

“Arthur, here’s the soap.”

Arthur just looked at it, he was quiet the entire time. He looked about ready to pass out if Bill was being honest, but he at least needed his hair washed and combed. Maybe he would ask Charles to help him with his hair later. For now, this man needed to be washed, and he wasn’t a bath girl but he thought he could at least do this much for him.

“You…mind if I touch you?”

Arthur’s tired eyes looked him up and down before he nodded.

“…please don’t go no farther than my back.”

His voice was weak when he said it. Bill squeezed his shoulder twice. It was a quiet, admittedly awkward, first few minutes of the bath. Bill would never say it out loud but it felt like he was washing his child, the way Arthur was hunched up on himself. They swam closer to the shore some time after they first got in. Arthur swam one lap but then told Bill that he was tired and just wanted to sit. Bill started with Arthur’s hair. He got the bucket and filled it up halfway with the water. As gently as he knew how he started to pour water on the blond’s head. It looked better already. Arthur had his face on his knees and his arms protecting it from getting wet. That’s when Bill realized that Arthur had streak of red along his forearm. It looked irritated, and more like a rope burn than anything. They were out of earshot from the gang, maybe this was a better time to talk to him. He waited till he was lathering the soap in his head.

“You got tied up and didn’t tell no one?”

Arthur pushed his hair from over his eyes and shook his head.

“No. I did it.”

“Can I ask you why?”

“Cause I was dirty.”

Bill really was trying not to make Arthur feel like a child, but the short replies, the way he made himself so small, and the cautiousness and patience it took to talk to him was not helping him look otherwise.

“So what that got to do with your arm?”

Arthur got real quiet after that and Bill cursed himself out mentally while he moved from Arthur’s now clean hair to the man’s neck and shoulders. Cain was now sleeping peacefully as he dried off in the sun. When Bill got to his shoulders, he knew that Arthur was crying again, and he felt awful about it.

“Shit…Arthur, I really ain’t mean nothing—”

“I tried to wash myself last week. I got myself out of bed and my bones ached, but I just wanted to be _clean_ again, Bill. I scrubbed, and I scrubbed but it felt like I was covered in this layer of dirt that would not come off, like it kept…putting itself back on me or something and I got so tired of it being there and clinging to me like I need more filth on my person and so I wiped and I wiped away at my skin till it got raw but it weren’t working, Bill. And I thought…”, he swallowed thickly, “I thought if I kept myself away from y’all, y’all would be safe from my dirt…my… _filth…_ ”

Arthur sounded furious but Bill knew that he wasn’t directing it him or anyone else in the gang. Arthur always resigned himself for being responsible for his own pain all the time.

“But all I did was make y’all mad at me and I weren’t trying to…I promise I weren’t.”

He was bawling at this point and quite possibly not far from a panic attack either with the way his tone became desperate at having Bill understand him. And Bill wanted to soothe him, wanted to ease his burden, but he couldn’t do it if Arthur could barely control his breathing. Bill got the soap bar, dunked it into the water and started to rub calming circles on Arthur’s back. He saw a few moments where Abigail would quiet a crying Jack at night and figured that maybe he should try to channel that.

“Shhh…you alright, Arthur, just shhh…”

And Bill wondered when the last time Arthur ever been soothed like this. No one yelling at him, threatening him, or dismissing him even. He got some more water and splashed in on his back. When Bill was done washing Arthur’s back, he placed the soap back in the bucket and moved to give him a quick hug. Bill was beginning to like them more as of late and he suspected Arthur did too.

“Ain’t nobody mad at you, Arthur. John just worried sick about you is all, and I reckon so is the rest of the gang, that’s all. No one seen you at the fire for a while and they just hoping you alright. People been asking John left and right about you but it ain’t to be cruel. Even heard Mrs. Adler yelling at Pearson to make the stew better so you could eat.”

“Shouldn’t waste their time.”

“You’d do the same for us though, Arthur and that’s why they doing this. You always say to Lenny that you see what he does for the gang, and it’s just the same with you. “

Arthur chuckled and it sounded a little less like a chore this time.

“You right I would do the same for y’all…except Micah.”

Bill laughed too and let Arthur go.

“Of course.”

Bill had to admit, after that bath, Arthur looked something like himself again. His skin was clean, if not pale. His hair was washed, if not a little duller than normal. He spoke a lot today, even if he was dead tired. He was trying, and Bill could see that. He gave the man the soap and got up out of the water. He whistled for Cain.

“What you giving me this for?”

“You cleaning your bottom on your own, sir, hierarchy be damned. Cain and I is going to eat now. You alright to finish?”

“Yes, but I’m off to bed after this.”

“That’s okay.”

Bill gave him another pat on the shoulder and headed for the stew pot.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters back to back! Wow!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be from Arthur's POV!! I hope y'all enjoy!

Arthur wondered if he made a mistake showing himself to the crew again. It’s been two weeks since Bill got him to come out of the tent and bathe. Well, if he was being honest with himself it was a week since that happened, the other week was spent sleeping and coming out at night to draw and write by the moonlight so that he would be unbothered by everyone else.

It was the eyes on him. The constant eyes on his every movement that made him want to hide away in his tent until he melted away and became part of the sheets, and the bed, and the earth. By the end of the second week, he felt something like himself again. Hollowed, but partially intact like a deformed nut. It still hurt to move. His bones creaked and ached, but he told himself that he could still move. His stomach was still upset, he could only manage spoonfuls of Pearson’s interpretation of food at a time before he felt like he would throw it up. He was careful to stay away from the gang, though. He sat at the fire at night when it was just him and whoever was on watch and did anything ranging from cleaning his guns, writing his thoughts, or sipping at a bottle of beer. It was a little better then, he could handle being this close yet this far from the others until he had more energy.

But he was tired before this and now he’s just drained.

The only company that he’s allowed in these past two weeks was John, Abigail, and Bill. The first two came as no surprise to him, but Bill Williamson sure did. It was odd, now that Arthur thought about it. It was strange to see this man that was possibly even angrier and sadder than him, attempt time and time again to console him as best as he knew how. When he first came back to camp after the incident, he just wanted to lay down without anyone stopping to talk to him. He was sore, embarrassed, ashamed and hurt at what happened to him, and then Bill of all people opened his mouth to speak. There was an image of him punching Bill in his head, but he didn’t want to be violent and angry then. He just wanted to sleep and be left alone. Kind of like right now, but he could never truly be alone living with the Dutch van der Linde gang.

It was easy to ignore at first. The morning where he woke with the sun and came out of his tent to find that life had went on without him. They were all hustling and bustling around the camp fixing breakfast, chatting with each other, doing chores. They all looked happy and Arthur was absolutely envious of them all for it. No one running up to him asking for a replacement pocket mirror, or a new fountain pen. In fact, it looked like they weren’t really worried for him at all. He was reminded of Bill’s words when they were washing up. All that talk about how they were all worried for him. He didn’t know why he was fooling himself. They were all grown, they could take care of themselves they didn’t need some tired old cowboy doing everything for them. He was a fool to think that he was more important than what he was. He spent two weeks lazing about in his tent while they worked double-time for the group, earning his keep for him. He felt his body getting heavier, like he could feel gravity pulling him down into the earth, the weight of the burden he placed on the gang apparent. His feet dragged as he quietly shuffled back into the tent and cried silent tears for what felt like the millionth time.

He tried again two days after that and he kept telling himself that he was still part of the gang, he wasn’t so useless that they would throw him out. He wanted to help with the chores, he topped up the wash buckets but he felt exhausted just by doing something as small as that. Charles was chopping wood, Kieran was tending to the horses, the women were laughing loudly as they washed clothes, Pearson humming some navy tune as he massacred the meat that would be for tonight’s dinner. And Arthur got tired just from lugging an empty pail from the river to the wash basin. He felt more useless than Uncle always made himself out to be, and in that moment he realized that it was a mistake to be outside again, to put himself under that hidden scrutiny.

“Hey, Arthur!”

Javier’s voice rang from across the camp. He was holding his guitar.

“There’s some room by the fire if you wanna come sit with us.”

Sadie was perched on the log across from Javier. Her voice was harsh but softer when she was speaking to him. Arthur could only take that as pity. They were looking at him so eagerly and Arthur felt like pure shit. He looked away from them and felt a hand clap his shoulder. He looked up and saw that it was Pearson smiling down at him. Pearson never smiled at him.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us again, Mr. Morgan!”

He was realizing very quickly that it was a mistake. He wasn’t ready to face them again, even after being holed up inside for two weeks. The way they smiled, the quiet hovering he noticed the entire day. The way they all were trying to get him to sit and chat with them. He didn’t want to chat, he just wanted to be in their company and still be alone. They didn’t need him anyway what did they care about him showing up again? He used to be gone longer if he was hunting particularly big game and they almost never checked up on him like this. He was tired, so very tired and desperate to go back to sleep even though it was nearing noon.

“That’s kind of y’all, but…I’m awful tired. Best get back to my tent now.”

He didn’t miss the silent look of panic between Sadie and Javier, and he only seemed more resolute to get back to his bed.

“You sure? Javier and I was about to play some music!”

“I’ll be able to hear y’all from my tent, don’t worry. I just need a quick nap is all.”

He walked briskly inside and almost threw himself on the cot. It was all a mistake and Bill was a liar. 

It was all just a big mistake. 


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur tried to sleep, but his body was caught somewhere between exhausted and nothing at all. True to their word, Javier and Sadie started playing their music after his abrupt exit. He could hear it seeping through his tent. There weren’t any walls and their playing wasn’t bad either, but Arthur wanted silence. He wanted quiet or something, he just wanted to be able to sleep. But he’s been asleep more than he’s been awake and he wished that this were under better circumstances. Before That happened to him, he was lucky enough to get even five hours of rest. He’s been lying in that cot for so long he was wondering how it was he didn’t have bed sores yet.

His eyes slowly drifted over to the journal that was resting on the barrel next to his bed. It was too far to reach, but if he just put a little effort into it he would have it in his hands.

But that just seemed like too much effort at the moment. Even the very thought of merely extending his arm to retrieve the leather-bound book tired him out. He frowned and looked around the tent that’s seen better days. When he does find it in himself to leave, he doesn’t have the energy to both tidy up _and_ prep himself to be exposed to everyone out there, the gang included. The water pitcher was filled again. He doesn’t hardly touch it but he’s sure that the women sometimes come in while he’s asleep or too lethargic to notice, and top up his water. There was an unspoken assignment that Abigail placed on herself. To take care of her brother-in-law. He never been around a finer group of ladies in his life, but he knew that the one who would dare to step into his tent without him knowing or even being asked first, would be Abigail Roberts. She even cleaned up after him. There was usually a pant leg or a sock sticking out of his wardrobe but everything in there was neatly folded, and laundered. Surely the other ladies helped out with the laundry and she just finished the rest.

He really wished that she wouldn’t do that.

Maybe he should leave camp again.

“Arthur?”

Speak of the devil. She was holding a plate of something. He really hoped that it wasn’t something Pearson made because he honestly wouldn’t be able to handle it at the moment. Her face was twisted into pure worry and concern but even still, he couldn’t find it in him to ask her to leave. She was searching for something on him, or maybe even in him, but he didn’t know what it was. He shuffled in the bed and her face loosened with relief. Arthur should’ve guessed, she was searching to see if he was alert enough to carry on conversation or even alert enough to be considered still alive. He didn’t speak, she didn’t seem to mind.

“I saw you outside just a little bit ago. You was chatting with Sadie and Javier, what was y’all talking about?”

All the ways and times Arthur’s witnessed Abigail go from the roughest and hardest of them all,  to the soft maternal figure that she’s adopted since being Jack’s mama and still it surprises him whenever she takes that gentle tone with him. Not like he deserved it, or her constant nursing.

“Nothing much.”

She was smart too. There were few people that could read Arthur without much thought, and she’d become one of those people very quickly. Just from the way he said it, the effective shut down of just those two words alone. He wasn’t one for conversation on the best of days, and now…he wants to say that he’s had worse days, worse times of his life. But what’s happened to him recently, he can safely say this is one of those times. She hummed, willing to look past what he would no doubt consider rude if anyone had spoken to him the same way, and waltzed over to the water pitcher.

“Arthur, you ain’t drinking very much water.”

“Don’t want water.”

He just wanted her to leave really. He wanted her to understand that he was trying everything to be alone, to not have her doting on him like he deserved it. He hadn’t contributed to the camp at all, he hadn’t given anything in for donations, hell, he didn’t even want to think about how much slack Charles had to pick up on his behalf with regards to hunting. Even if he was the better hunter. Even if everyone was a better everything than him.

“You ought to drink something that ain’t beer. I know you men and your thirst, but after the state you and Bill came back in…you know what I’m talking about, I reckon you should treat water like it were beer. Might make you feel better.”

She was caught in the awkward position of trying to be reprimanding but still be soothing and nurturing. It worked a little. She moved a crate in front of him, something like a makeshift table that was installed in his tent a little after he first came back. She set the plate down and he couldn’t help but feel a jolt of something as he saw the small look of satisfaction on her face as she took one last look at the plate of food. It was a bread roll, beans, and a slice of steak.

“Well, ain’t no time like the present! Go on, eat up.”

He had to admit that it smelled wonderful. The scent made his stomach growl and forced him to come to the painful realization that he hadn’t eaten anything properly in nearly two weeks.

“Did Pearson make this?”

She looked offended that Arthur would even ask something like that. She put her hands on her hips.

“Oh come on, Arthur! Does this look like something that old fool could whip up? Them army boys only know how to open a can of beans and stir some stew, one of which he still can’t even do properly!”

She snorted, pleased at herself for the jab she took at their cook. Arthur was inclined to agree. They’ve had Pearson as the camp cook for nearly ten years and in that decade, the man still managed to cook the same way. Even Hosea had to comment his confusion as to how someone can spend all their years honing one craft and still not even be decent in it. Arthur didn’t mind it really, it beat having to root around in someone’s garbage just for a piece of old bread like he had to do before the gang recruited him.

“I made it.”

She could see him going back into that hole of his. That hole where his eyes glazed over and his mouth went all scrunched up. It was the crease in his forehead though, whenever he tended to lose himself to whatever demons plagued his head, his forehead would crunch together and make him look constipated. Abigail was quick to put a stop to it though, and even though he didn’t want company, he appreciated the sentiment.

“You?”

It wasn’t a camp secret that she wasn’t the best cook around. A lot of the gang members were too focused on surviving, mostly in the streets before they met Dutch. You ask most anyone around and they would tell you that they had to cook a meal for themselves because they didn’t have a home to do that in. Abigail tried though. He’s reminded to the time just before Jack came along and John left, that she sat him down in front of the fire and made him eat at least five different dishes that she cooked. The idea was there, but the taste…not so much. John always made it a point to rib her about her cooking skills and she only ever took it with a grain of salt. Now Arthur looked down at the food and then up at her. Her blue eyes beckoning him to take a bite.

“Well, it weren’t _all_ me, I got Miss Grimshaw to help a little. It were mostly me, though. I promise it ain’t gonna kill you to take a bite! Hurry up now before it gets cold!”

Arthur wanted to, Abigail’s cooking be damned. But he was worried about his stomach. He was always prone to stomach issues when under duress. When he was first picked up by Dutch and Hosea, he threw up nearly everything they gave him just because of the stress of being taken in by strangers who were also gang members, and then the realization of being the only kid in the entire group. Now....this is certainly the worst it has ever been and so he was apprehensive. But Abigail wouldn’t leave until he ate something. It was now that he understood how Jack might feel whenever she pulls the same trick with him. She cleared her throat, a warning signal that soon her patience would grow thin enough that she would elect to spoon feed him instead.

What a sight that would be.

“I know your belly ain’t right, but I got to thinking and maybe it’s on account of us trying to feed you whatever it is Pearson be cooking up. I know you like steak and I know you’ve always enjoyed you a can of beans now and then. If anything, just eat the bread so I’ll know you got some food in you.”

She walked over to the pitcher and poured some water into the tin cup that was resting beside it. The only noise heard in the tent. Sadie and Javier still going at it with whatever song they were playing. Sadie was laughing in between breaths. He wished that he could join them. A plop of water hit the side of his hand as Abigail placed it down with a firm hand and even a firmer smile. He felt his lips move in what he assumed resembled a smile, but he couldn’t feel it and he couldn’t be sure either. She gave him a nod and he figured that he did his job. One of them. The second one was yet to be complete.

“Alright.”

He cut a piece of the steak and then spooned it together with the beans. His brows rose in fascination and relief that it wasn’t as horrible as he thought it was going to be. He could feel her smile of smugness beaming down at him.

“Good, ain’t it?”

Arthur, feeling his stomach cramping with the unfamiliar yet yearned for feeling of food filling it, nodded. He broke off a piece of bread and mixed with the bean sauce.

“Mhm.”

She giggled and swatted at his legs. He sat up and she joined him by sitting on the bed too.

“Make sure to tell John you said that.”

His mouth quirked in a bit of a smile. The music played softer as it was just Javier strumming at his guitar now. Abigail had her head turned towards the sound and even Arthur was lazily following along with the performance. He took another spoonful, glad that the process seemed to be just a bit easier now.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a real stranger encounter! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHV30_HUCy0  
> He's located right above Saint Denis, near Lakay or something like that. If you see this house, you should avoid it! 
> 
> I just also think that R* is fucked up for having Bill (or Uncle) say this to you and that's all we get about that. Lmao, so I decided to fix that. 
> 
> Please send me requests or follow me at johnlockerooni.tumblr.com!


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